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A Monologue for a Lady 



A PASSING CLOUD 




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A MONOLOGUE 



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MARSDEN BROWN 

AUTHOR OF "a BOLD STRATAGEM 




TWO COPIES F'" ''"0 



CHICAGO 
THE DRAMATIC PUBI<ISHING COMPANY 






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CHABACTER. 

Mrs. Grace Hayward— a bride of one month. 



Plays fifteen to twenty minutes. 

Costume.— Handsome evening dress. 

Copyright, 1897, by the Dramatic PubUshing Company, Chicago. 



TMPS2-00871C 



A PASSING CLOUD. 



Scene. — A small drawing-room prettily furnished. A door 
at back of the stage. To the right a mantlepiece with a clock 
upon it. To the left a writing-table with notepaper, pens, and 
aft ink bottle. At the rise of the curtain, Grace, in a well 
made evening-dress, is seen walking up and down. She stops 
suddenly and looks at the clock.] 

Grace. Six o'clock ! No ! nine minutes past six ! [Sits 
down. Emphasises the words.] I'll wait another moment 
more ! \Gets up quickly.] 'Tis he! [After listening at the 
door.] No ! 'Tis not he ! 'Tis the wind ! [Looks at the 
clock.] And it's quite ten minutes past six ! I declare it's 
eleven minutes past ! [Sighs.] How slowly the time passes ! 
[Listens.\ Hush! [With irritation.] It's the wind again! 
I must have a portiere put over the front door to keep out the 
wind. [After a time.] A quarter past six ! He's just a quarter 
ot an hour too late — a century it seems when one is waiting ! 
[Turns towards the door and speaks in a supplicating voice,] 
Do — do make haste and come, Harry ! [Turns to audience.] 
His name is Harry ! [After a moment.] My Harry ! Whom 
else could I be waiting and longing for like this ? [Looks at 
the clock.] Seventeen minutes past six ! [To the audience.] 
You don't know him ? Very well, then. Do you know a man 
named Apollo ? Of course you do. Very well, then ; Harry 
is just exactly like him ! He has a charm, besides, which is all 
his own. [Looks at the clock.] Twenty-two minutes past six ! 

[To the audience.] It was I who discovered Harry ; all by 
myself! Mamma and I were spending a few weeks at the sea 
shore. I went to the beach one afternoon to try and find some 
shells for the little children at home. I was kneeling on the 
sand — I had dug my hand right down into the sand. [Shows 
her right hand.] This one, you see. All of a moment I felt 

5 



6 A PASSING CLOUD. 

something taking hold of my fingers. [Looks at the clock,] 
Twenty-five minutes past six ! [To the audience.] Thinking 
it was a crab, I screamed and jumped up. A man, quite a 
young one, was standing there. He was blushing horribly — so 
was I. The sky was looking so blue and the sea so green. 
Ah ! there are certain moments in one's life one cannot forget ! 
[Her voice changes.] A voice broke the silence — his voice. 
" I beg ten thousands pardons — I mistook your fingers for, I 
cannot say what ! Pink coral, perhaps." He was crimson with 
blushes. " And I took yours," replied I, stammering a good 
deal, " for a crab ! And my name is Grace." •• Mine is 
Harold," he replied, stammering in his turn. " An only daugh- 
ter," I added, not knowing what to say. " An only son," he 
murmured. " Ah ! thanks ! " So we bowed, and each went 
our way. We were both as pale as pale could be. [Looking 
at clock.] Half-past six ! You guess the rest ? Later we met 
at a ball — quite by chance. It was my first ball, and grand- 
mamma was very cross about my going at all, because I wasn't 
really quite eighteen. Well, he was introduced to me by Mrs. 
Alistair. And the end of it all was, that only a month ago we 
were married. Such a lovely wedding ! Such pretty dresses ! 
As I came down the aisle, everybody said " How sweet ! " I 
was glad of that, for Harry's sake, you know ! My cheeks were 
whiter than my dress. The longest train you ever saw, and 
embroidered all over with pearls. I felt very odd, but very 
happy. Harry's tooth was aching, I must say it over again : 
there are moments in one's life one can't forget ! \Looks at the 
clock. In a meditative tone.] Only married a month ! And — 
[Adds quickly.] But we shall always love one another. He's 
so good and kind, there is no doubt about it ! Always so gen- 
tle ! [Confidentially.] When we're alone I call him " Dear- 
est!" and he calls me "Darling." [With sudden agitation.] 
How strange he hasn't returned ! This is the first time since 
our marriage he has been late in coming home. Usually at six 
o'clock punctually — not a minute later — I hear him put his key 
in the lock, and then I am in his arms, or he in mine. It doesn't 
matter which — it just depends. How is it that to-day — ? 
[Walking up and down.] O dear ! how dreadfully worried I 
am! [To the audience.] What? Detained? How? By 
whom ? Not by his business, because I have just remembered 
that he is going to the country to-day. By some one else, then. 
Who could it be ? [After a mo7nent.] Ah ! you see, I can find 
no excuse for him ; that's the worst of it ! [To herself.] If I 
had not told him we were to dine with mamma to-night. I 



A PASSING CLOUD. 7 

might have thought — but he knows as well as I do ! He knows 
I had this new dress made on purpose ! So. {Her voice falters.^ 
It does suit me well, doesn't it. A little large around the waist, 
perhaps. He ought to know how impatient I should be ! I 
will have it taken in at least two inches. He ought — [Looks at 
the clock.'] O dear ! The. time ! I feel inclined to turn back 
the hand ; but that's no use ! [She thinks she hears a souttd, 
runs to thewi7ido7u.'\ Here he is ! No ! It's a cart ! A cart ! 
Perhaps he has been run over. [Covers her face.] Faint, 
crushed, mangled ! with a broken \tg, an arm broken. [Runs 
to the window again and looks out.] Stop, stop! [This to a 
passing coachman.] Dear me ! I must be mad ! Nothing 
has happened after all. [To the audience.] He has met a 
friend, perhaps. Perhaps — No ! Not that or — [Disfnisses the 
thought.] No ! Not likely at all ! In fact, it's not this, not 
this, not that, not a cart, not a broken arm, nor any thing I can 
think of, unless it be the terrible truth, which I had better rea- 
lize at once, that he is beginning to love me less. [She brushes 
away a tear.] Yes ! now I know he has had enough of me, of 
our little home, of our happiness, of my love for him ! A 
month — that's a long time for man — and then ! Oh ! how 
wretched I am. [Knocks her foot impatiently on the floor.] 
Idiot ! [Listens?^ That's he ! — No ! not yet. [Tur7ts to the 
door?] When you come in I shall just shew what a bad time I 
can give you. You shall see what I can say, and do, when it 
comes to the point. [To the audience.] The first real fight 
between us — oh, there are moments in one's life very, ver^- ter- 
rible to bear ! But only let me be calm, sensible, dignified. 
What attitude, now, should I really take ? How speak ? How 
look ? It's very difficult to know. But, then, it's my first at- 
tempt. If my mother were here she would tell me exactly how 
to manage it all, Why, she thinks nothing of three scenes a day 
with father ! [Smiles?)^ Poor man ! [Her voice changes.] 
Let me see. [Kfter a moment.] No! — yes! That's it ! When 
he comes in I'll look very grave — majestic ; my face shall be as 
rigid as marble. He, longing to make friends, will say, «• Ex- 
cuse me, darling, for being so late, but—" Then I shall interrupt 
him, and say "[very coldly], " You are at liberty to come at 
whatever time you choose ! " He will say, " I must tell you 
what kept me," and I will answer, " I do not even care to know." 
Then he will ask, •' Is Darling vexed with her Dearest ? " and I 
will answer [again very coldly], " I am not your Darling, and 
you are not my Dearest." He will try to give me a kiss, but 
with an imperious gesture I shall wave him aside. After that 



8 A PASSING CLOUD. 

he might laugh, and I am afraid I might too. Somehow I can't 
help laughing whenever he does. [Laughs irresistibly to her- 
self,] Though it's awfully silly. [After a pause.] Perhaps a 
sad and resigned air would have the greatest effect. A lamb 
led to the slaughter like this — " Yes, dear, you are free, quite 
free. I don't reproach you," and so on, and so on. Seeing me 
take the whole thing so sadly and so gently, I daresay he will 
try to comfort me, but I won't let him. But now, supposing I 
were to see, on the other hand, what personal violence might do. 
If I were to accost him — [Draws herself tip, and raises her 
arm.] " You wretch ! I shall show you I am not the simple- 
hearted child you think me." [Lets her arm fall.] But no ! 
He wouldn't let me do it ! And perhaps he might return the 
blow. One can never be sure of a man ! Let me think of 
something else. [To the audience?] What do you say to my 
having hysterics ? [Points to a spot on the floor.] There, on 
the floor, with my hair falling over my shoulders, my eyes roll- 
ing, my teeth gnashing, sighing, sobbing, screaming, foaming at 
the mouth. Mamma, I knew, was very fond of tr}-ing hysterics 
a few^ years ago, although she has giyen them up since, for they 
tired her so much, and papa said he had got used to them. 
[Looks at the clock.] Twenty minutes to seven — [resolutely.] 
I shall decide upon hysterics. [Puts her hand as if to take 
down her hair.] But no ; 1 should have to do up my hair all 
over again, and in rolling on the floor I might spoil my dress. 
Besides, sobbing and crying, I might get my eyes red for din- 
ner. A simple faint ought to be enough at any rate for the first 
time. [Throws herself into an arm-chair.] There ! that's 
better ! Here I shall remain cold, pale, languid, dying, dead. 
He will come in, rush up to me, ask me a thousand questions, 
and he'll find me lifeless. Then he'll be beside himself, call 
aloud for the servants, go down on his knees before me, dash 
cold water on my marble-white forehead. [Gets up quickly.] 
But, then, my poor, unfortunate dress ! What a pity that 
dinner stands in the way ! [After a moment?] Suppose I pre- 
tend to be mad ! They say nothing is so much like madness as 
perfect sanity. Only Harry might take advantage of me by 
sending for a doctor — a specialist. A man who doesn't love his 
wife is capable of all that's bad. It isn't only that he doesn't 
love me. I wouldn't mind that — but I believe he positively dis- 
likes me — detests me ! I'm certain of it. I have proof, [In a 
tragic voice.] I must resign myself to my fate. Nothing re- 
mains to me but to bear the misery he brings upon me. No ! 
I won't bear it! I'll go home. [Thinks for awhile.] I know 



A PASSING CLOUD. 9 

what I will do. I will send for mamma, and let her make a ter- 
rible scene. Then, when he is quite annihilated, she shall take 
me away with her — far, far away from this sad home, where 1 
have suffered so terribly and borne so much. {Changes her 
tone.\ I will write. \^Sits at writing-table.'] " My own dear- 
est mother." [Looks at the c/oc^.] Ten minutes to seven. «« It 
will soon be four days." I'll put a week — [writes.] " It is just 
a week since Harry left home, and he has not yet returned." 
[Leaves off writing and listens.] Hush! Listen! [With a 
cry of pleasure.] It's he ! it really is he ! [Ptcts her hand to 
her heart.] Oh ! There are moments in one's life which make 
up for all. But what shall I do ? [Tears up letter.] First I 
must tear up this letter. [Hesitates.] Shall I faint ? Perhaps 
not. No 1 I'll just run and give him a kiss, and faint another 
time ! [Runs quickly out at the door.] 

CURTAIN. 



THi OBAMATIC PUBU8H IH0 COMt>ANY'S CATAtOSUt 

NEW PLAYS, 1897-98. 

The First Kiss. 

Comedy in One Act, 

BY 

MAURICE HAGEMAN. 

Author "By Telephone," "A Crazy Idea," Etc. 
One male, one female characters. Plays twenty minutes. 
Scene, a handsomely furnished room. Costumes, afternoon 
dress of to-day. This sketch presents an entirely new plot, 
with novel situations and business. The fun is continuous 
and the dialog-ue brig-ht and refined. Price, 15 cents. 



Bird's Island. 



Drama in Four Acts, 

BY 

MRS. SALLIE F. TOLER. 

Author of "Handicapped," Etc. 
Five male (may be played with four), four female char- 
acters. One exterior, two interior scenes. Costumes, summer 
costumes of to-day. Plays two and one-half hours. This is 
one of the strong-est dramas since *'East L/ynne." Thrilling^ 
situations abound and the comedy element is equally strong". 
The drama is strong" in character parts, the plot including- a 
blind man, an Englishman, who is not slow in every sense of 
the word, an Irishman, a Scotchwoman, a Creole maid and a 
charming" soubrette, all of whom are star parts. The profes- 
sional stage will find this a drawing and paying play — but 
amateurs can easily produce it. Price, 25 cents. 



Hector. 



Farce in One Act, 

BY 

MAURICE HAGEMAN. 

Author of " First Kies," "A Crazy Idea," Etc. 
Six male, two female characters. Plays forty-five minutes. 
Costumes, one messenger boy's, man and woman servants, a 
dudish young man, a flashy Hebrew, and lady and gentle- 
man's street dress. Scene, a well furnished reception room. 
This farce has been a great success among professionals. 
The situations are so funny they can not be spoiled by the 
most inexperienced actors. The dialogue keeps up a constant 
hurrah in the audience. Hector, the dog, forms the central 
idea of the plot of the play, but need not be seen at any 
time unless a suitable animal is at hand. Price, 15 cents. 



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